Like An Old Sock
by hu3long2
Summary: Collection of ByaRenBya oneshots. Current chapter: crack, tentacles, and zombies
1. Chapter 1

Title: A rude affair

Author: hu3long2

Characters: The SWA and ByaRen

Word count: ~1900

Rating: PG

Warnings/Spoilers: Crack and fluff, as usual. Shameless fangirling. References to some omake?!

Disclaimer: Don't own Bleach, not even bleach

AN: Part of my Fanfiction universe, with several references from those ByaRen stories. And check out Mameshiba on youtube!

* * *

Ise Nanao adjusted the stem of her glasses. "Next up for voting," she said, "the rudest man in Soul Society."

"Ken-chan," shouted Yachiru happily. "Ken-chan! Ken-chan!"

"Mayuri-sama," came Nemu's quiet voice, heard above Yachru's cheers. Yachuri turned her large eyes on Nemu, lips rounding in astonishment.

"You don't think Ken-chan is the mostest rudest man in Soul Society, Drill-san?"

Before Nemu could answer, Rangiku broke in. "Hold it for just a moment," she said. An elegant index finger wagged at Nanao from across the table. "Some clarification is in order. Are we speaking of just Seireitei, or is Rukongai included as well? Because there's this geezer in Rukongai East's Fiftieth who always yells, "Can't afford more cloth, girl?" whenever I pass him." She fluffed her hair and continued just as Nanao opened her mouth. "I'm not objecting to his taste in boobs. After all, some men do prefer women of lesser endowment, I can live with that." Her eyes swept around the room and rested on those materially less endowed. She received several heated glares in return. Nanao's hand lifted to remove her glasses, and Rangiku hurriedly continued, "I'm mad because he actually dared to cast a slur on my fashion sense! Not enough cloth, indeed! How rude, that, that _man_! It makes me mad even to think about it!" She puffed angrily, bosom swelling.

"Your taichou says that to you often enough, Ran. And I must agree that your shikahausho contravenes Regulation 102, Section B on appropriate attire." Nanao's voice held a edge, and Momo and Kiyone nodded enthusiastically at her words.

Rangiku's indignation abated. "Had to look that one up, didn't you? I love it when you try to throw the rulebook at me." She grinned broadly at her best friend. "As for Taichou, you ladies know he's saying that for different reasons!" She smirked briefly. "Taichou's really cute in that awkward, possessive way of his."

"I am sure we may forgive a jealous lover any degree of weakness," said Unohana. She smiled sweetly at the gathered members of the SWA. "Shall we continue with the voting, lades?"

Nanao hurriedly straightened her already precisely-placed agenda. "In answer to your question, Ran, perhaps we should restrict our nominations to Seireitei. So far, Zaraki and Kurotsuchi Taichous are on the list. Any other suggestions?"

The shinigami women looked at each other, then Kiyone pointed at Rukia, attracting everyone's attention. "Rukia! Are you alright?" Said shinigami's face was a sight to behold, alternating between sun-burnt red and green pallidness. The assembled women recognized the familiar signs of volubility warring with discretion.

"Just spill it, Rukia," drawled Matsumoto. "From your expression, I can tell that it has to do with your brothers and it's a biggie." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "And now that we know it's a story about ithem/i, we're not going to let it rest until you give it up, are we?" She winked and glanced languidly around the table at the gamut of eagerly perked ears. "So spill, Rukia-chan. You know the worst your Nii-sama'll do to you would be to freeze your Kuchiki stipend for a month, and you can always get Ichigo to pay for things with that shopping pass of his!"

"Hear, hear!" came a chorus of voices. It was conventional wisdom among the SWA that Rukia could bully anything out of Ichigo.

A cunning glimmer entered Rukia's eyes as she considered Rangiku's words. Recovering her usual poise, she lowered her head in mock mortification, though the pride in her voice could be heard when she spoke after a dramatic pause. "Renji came home one day all messy and muddy, his hair down and tangled. You know what that's like?" A collective sigh echoed around the table. Abarai Renji with his hair down was a rare occurrence in Soul Society these days. Several glares were darted at Momo, who simply shrugged. At the beginning of the war, she had helped him devise kido-bespelled hair ties.

Rukia continued after the appropriate reactions had been exhausted. "Well, I was just going along to his rooms to ask him something when I heard Nii-sama tell him that he was just like a Rukongai cur who had debauched himself in a field of rotting fishheads." She concluded with a triumphant look around the room.

Awestruck silence greeted her words. Finally, Momo spoke, "Kuchiki Taichou said _that_ to Abarai-kun?"

Rukia nodded.

"To his spouse?" This time, it was Isane who asked the question. After much deliberation, the SWA had finally voted "spouse" as the designation most proper to each element of the Abarai-Kuchiki dyad. The more conventional "husband" and "wife" being inapplicable in their case, given the variety of positions that, on Rukia's best testimony, the two taichou assumed.

Rukia nodded again.

"What was Abarai Taichou's response?" Kiyone took over the questioning from her sister.

Rukia shrugged. Then her eyes lit with the peculiar glow that accompanied any favourable appraisal of her Nii-sama. "I kept away from dinner that night, but the next morning, the residence was still standing, and Nii-sama and Renji were playing their usual visual footsie with each other, so Nii-sama must have done something to him after that."

"Still, what an insult, all things considered, especially with Abarai Taichou's begin..." Isane's voice trailed off. Most of the SWA gave heartfelt nods.

After appropriately somber consideration, Rangiku snapped her fingers. "Okay, ladies, that settles the question, didn't it? Kuchiki Taichou wins hands down. A volley of nods ran up and down the room. Only Yachiru looked mutinous.

"Yachiru," said Nanao gently, "I know you want your Ken-chan to be best at everything, but I think for this vote, you'll have to listen to the majority. I will be the first to admit that Zaraki Taichou is second to none in being brutally frank and frankly brutal. But I don't think he regards that as being rude. Of course, he wouldn't care if he knew, but much of the time, he really doesn't know!" She glanced at Unohana Retsu. "Would you agree with me, Unohana Taichou?" The head of the 4th Division merely smiled enigmatically.

"Kuchiki Taichou, however, has been brought up to the strictest standards of etiquette, and is well aware of the courteous weight of each word. Yet, we never see him show any qualm at some deliberate rudeness. Most of us have, at one point or other, been recipients of his rudeness, and we know that he has been intentionally offensive."

"Well said, Nanao-chan!" said a voice from the doorway. "Byabo's the rudest, noisiest brat in Soul Society!"

"It's unanimous then," sighed Rangiku, as Soi Fon flung herself across the room and Uohana rose more sedately to greet the newcomer. Yoruichi's appearance usually signaled the start of something infinitely more interesting than deciding "The Most" lists.

Yoruichi's entire face re-shaped itself into a mischievous cat-like grin. "You bet."

* * *

**Omake to a Omake**

Renji sighed as the water bubbled to perfection. It had been a long day at the Fifth Division, followed by his usual visit to cook and play with the children at the safe houses in Rukongai, and he was parched. Not to mention the distinctly unpleasant taste that refused to leave his mouth. Carefully, he poured the hot water over the tea leaves. In his early days as Byakuya's fukutaichou, the latter had instructed him in the art of tea making. Sometimes, reflected Renji, as the water took on a characteristic green hue, aristocratic habits were good for something.

He put the kettle down and turned as the fusuma slid open. "Bya--" Before he could finish the name, he was wrapped in a familiar embrace of sakura and musk, his partner's scent at this time of the day. An insistent tongue slipped through his lips and proceeded on its masterful way across his mouth.

Renji grinned around Byakuya's tongue and mentally began his countdown. He loved Byakuya's amorous assaults but sometimes the intrusion of the unexpected added a little spice to a relationship that would extend centuries into the future.

Abruptly he was released. The proud face in front of him was pinched with disdain, and not a little green. The short brows lowered and the grey eyes were stormy. "You taste and smell just like a Rukongai cur who had debauched himself in a field of rotting fishheads."

Renji burst into laughter. "Kissed many Rukongai curs, have you?" he chuckled. He poured out a cup of tea and held it out.

The dark frown merely deepened. "Hardly. I do not share your penchant for indulging unseemly canine behavior," his partner replied. He took a sip of tea and gently swirled it around his mouth as Renji watched admiringly. Only Byakuya could make gargling and spitting look elegant.

Renji held up his hands pacifically. "I couldn't help it if there were a dozen kids holding me down and tickling me as well, could I?" The broad grin on his face belied the apology in his words. "And with me laughing so hard, I couldn't help a little tongue getting in, could I?"

Byakuya's expression was the visual equivalent of an aristocratic sniff. "A lot of tongue. That ridiculous animal should have been trained a long time ago. And given a different name."

"Mameshiba can't help his size, you know." Renji grinned and spat into his bowl. "Who would've thought that little pup would turn out to be mainly Newfoundland?" A Newfoundland mix with a love for leaping on his victims and lying full length on them while he licked them at his leisure. The last time Mameshiba had tried that with Byakuya, however, he had been stopped by a full Bakudo 61 Rikujokoro spell. Shunpo, apparently, was no deterrent, since the dog merely took it as an invitation to play.

Then, Renji lowered his head and looked slyly at Byakuya out of the corner of his eye. "How about I keep my mouth closed the next time, and leave all the tongue action to you? You, at least, won't taste of dog." The only reply was a heated glare. Renji loved ribbing Byakuya for his possessiveness, not that he dealt much better in this department, he thought wryly. With a mental shrug, he held out his hand and gave Byakuya their private smile. "As always, you were right, Byakuya. Mameshiba had found a vat of rotting fish, and jumped right into it. Care to scrub my back while I get rid of the stink?"

This time, a slight smile edged the thin lips of his partner. "If we conclude your ablutions in the onsen."

"Huh." The monosyllabic response was Renji's agreement. Regretfully, he kissed his planned evening paperwork good-bye and reminded himself to hand training over to Hinamori the next morning while he completed said paperwork. From the particular stress Byakuya laid on the word "onsen", he planned to reclaim Renji's mouth and every other inch besides, slowly and thoroughly. For the both of them, it was one way-- ithe only way,/i whispered his libido-- to end a long work day, especially now that Byakuya had found yet another incentive. iYou handed it to him on a silver platter, you sly dog,/i cackled the aforementioned libido. With a grin of acknowledgment, Renji cast work from his mind and set about turning the tables on his partner. He didn't plan on being the only one seduced this night.

"You may undress me too. Howsoever you please." The words were a promise that brought lightning into the grey eyes of their intended recipient.

"You are too generous, Abarai Taichou." The rich, aristocratic baritone turned husky.

The conviction of solemn rightness rose from the depths of his soul. "I don't think I can ever be, with you," whispered Renji, as his haori fell to the ground.

The fingers eagerly tracing his collarbones tightened violently, leaving faint smudges of purple.

**Owari**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Five times Renji tries to confess and...

Characters: Byakuya, Renji (rated PG)

Spoilers/Warnings: Ep. 63, omake 216, Bleach at the beach, Ep. 254, fluff-crack

AN: Can't write anymore, just wanted to get it out before ep. 254 becomes old hat and before I got sick of it.

1.

"Taichou, ore wa..." His gut churns and he averts his eyes from his Taichou. His throat catches on the tail-ends of wisps of emotions running riot within, and is too slow to trap into soundlessness the words that slip past his lips. The feelings trail tantalizing within reach, if only he can wrap his clumsy tongue around them. His eyes fall shut to gather his thoughts, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if this action, in imitation of his Taichou's, has the same function for the other man. Even in a sickbed, still wrapped to his chin in the same remnants of battle that Renji has already discarded, the man can, with a few simple words in that quietly reflective tone so alien to his usual imperiousness, stir him into twin declarations of loyalty and emulation.

Yet, Renji's heart has never been so free. It is a strange unburdening, and this resolution into a new truth, a new reality, is confirmed when Ichigo appears with his announcement of Rukia's disappearance. Renji is not impelled to follow Ichigo through the window but remains by his Taichou's side. After her recent peril, Rukia will not heedlessly endanger herself. But Rukia is her own person, and he, too, belongs to himself. Their connection is no longer a choke-chain on him but a infinitely supple thread of rare tenderness that spools through their hands.

In a different universe, there may not have been a Kurosaki-shaped interruption. But here, now, despite his complaint, Ichigo has held him back from an abyss of explanation, when he has yet to explore the rearranged symmetries of his inner horizon.

Besides, the look of complete befuddlement on his Taichou's face is rather iendearing./i

2.

"Taichou ni mo katte ki..." Renji begins, but is cut off. He deflates at his Taichou's flat-out refusal. Renji, when he saw the catalogue, did wonder if those sunglasses would be quite to Kuchiki taste. But Ichigo has assured him that they are the latest fashion, and Renji himself has considered the fact that he is dealing with the creator of the Seaweed Ambassador, and he figures that those sunglasses belong in the same order of beauty. Perhaps it is the colours to which his Taichou objects? He sighs inwardly. Pale green and purple are an impossible combination, that coupling of the pale green of Taichou's heirloom scarf and the violet of Rukia's eyes. No. Kuchiki Hisana's eyes, he corrects himself. The sisters resemble each other closely. But a pair of sunglasses cannot be matched like a beach costume, and yellow and pink are as near green and purple as he can find in that heart-shaped design. Besides, he has always assumed that his Taichou has a partiality for pink. It is a colour Renji himself is not averse to. Yumichika tells him that, while shinigami black and white work very well, pink is eminently suited to a man with his colouring.

Renji sighs again in disappointment as he withdraws from his Taichou's presence and touches his own pair of starry shades. So even the sight of these perched on his own head provide no encouragement to his Taichou. He removes them and puts them away ruefully. Yachiru might like them. The next time, he will go with his gut and order those wraparound Oakleys for himself. Now, those are sunglasses!

As for his present to his Taichou, Renji makes no attempt at retrieval.

3.

"Ore wa Taichou o... Taichou o... " He is shaking uncontrollably. At first beset by a sense of masculine outrage at his incipient, sappy confession, then propelled by his feelings and his forthrightness, he cannot but look at the object of his yearning in the eye. He is, after all, Abarai Renji, and he has his pride, just as his Taichou has his own, a pride that has taken him so far away from comrades and squad. But before Renji can finish, something catches in his throat, and he can only convey his meaning through the intensity of his posture. His mind howls in wordless frustration. Why can he never say what he means to this man, who, despite his exhaustion and the wounds that have sliced his shikahausho in so many places, still stands so arrogantly and so untouchable in his ineffable competence?

Then rescue comes. "Renji, ikuso." With one simple phrase, his Taichou restores the equilibrium between them. Once again, he has offered his back to Renji to protect. And even from his sideway glance, Renji can tell that the little crease between his brows has eased, and his Taichou is once again calm and unflappable, and in his devotion everything that Renji wants and wants to be.

Somehow, Renji's world has returned to its proper axis. A trickle of discontent remains, because his declaration has once again gone askew in the face of his Taichou's armored demeanor, but, someday, Renji knows, some day, he will find the strength. "Not cool, huh?" He thinks, as he ignores the gibes of Chimp and Snake, and shunpos after the man he has sworn to pursue. "Definitely not cool like Taichou, who always conveys what he wants to say without appearing to do so. But someday, you'll see, I'll find my own cool."

He does not see the little smile that edges the lips of his Taichou as he slashes at a Menos.

_iTadaima. I have returned./i_

4.

"Taichou, ore no..." My... my what? Renji lies on the rooftop above his office and scoffs at the moon, so tranquil in its course, so certain in tracing the constant trajectory of its unaltered course. "Though you once likened yourself to the moon, Taichou, that is something you can never, and should never, be." He speaks aloud, hearing his voice, bold and arrogant, and his words, frank and confident, hover in the night air. Though he has not yet found his voice with that man, Renji is no longer mute to himself. Bankai entails courage, conviction, agony, truth, and as he masters his soul, Renji merely becomes more himself. Brash, cocky, strong in ways he has never measured strength before. "And I am not a monkey. Not even for you will I be that monkey. Gibbering, seeking only the next meal or the next entertainment. Once, I did seek only the next meal, but my life has never been a series of entertainments." He grins wolfishly. "We are men. Nothing more and nothing less. Do you know how long it has taken me to say that? To see you as a man, in every way? And not a figment of my imagination? We are men. We have loved and we have lost. We make choices. We are pushed helter-skelter by the choices others make. We celebrate and we grieve. We weep and we laugh. Though I would dearly love to see you laugh. And love again." He falls silent and stares fixedly at the gauzy clouds obscuring the moon.

Then he chuckles and shakes himself. "And I am a man who talks to himself. I wonder what you would say if you knew? 'Renji, stop daydreaming.' 'Renji, futile words are inappropriate effort.' 'Renji, words should not be like a dog chasing its tail.' Ah, Taichou, I know you dislike repetition, but, surely, there are some things worth saying over and over again? Let me say them over and over again to myself, until I can finally say them to you." Stretching himself under the blanket, he wiggles until he finds a comfortable position, then allows his eyes to close.

In the darkened office beneath, the still figure bestirs itself and leaves silently.

5.

"Renji, ikuso." His taichou stands up and reaches for his cloak as Renji dismisses the hell butterfly. _iRenji, let's go./i_ The familiar command settles among the thousand others Renji has heard during his tenure as his Taichou's second-in-command, and it is as if all of them have suddenly acquired weight and substance enough to push at the bottleneck of Renji's silence. With an imaginary 'pop', his previous reticence disappears, and Renji suddenly finds the words he has been seeking. Eyes narrowing, he spares a moment of rueful amusement at their sheer banality, but his Taichou has never been one for fancy words, at least, not between them. "Taichou," he begins, and the man turns a precise quarter-circle, his profile presented to Renji's view. "Taichou," Renji says again. And this time, he scarcely pauses before his tongue once again flexes in agile demonstration. "'Renji, ikuso.' That's what Taichou always says to me, but sometimes, I wish you would say 'Kuru, Renji.'" _Come, Renji._

When his Taichou turns full-face to him, eyelids lowered and expression unchanged, Renji cannot quite suppress a tendril of trepidation. After all, as much as he has convinced himself that what he craves is an outlet and not a response, this confession bears the imprint of his soul, and is a confession that deliberately avoids the heat of the moment.

"Renji."

The sound of his name reverberates through his chest. Renji has often claimed, during his drunker moments, that his Taichou has one of the most beautiful voices in Seireitei despite the habitual absence of most emotional nuances. Now, Renji is glad that he cannot discern anger in it.

"It will be my greatest pleasure to utter those words in more felicitous surroundings."

As Renji's jaw drops, his Taichou lifts his eyes to him, and his legs abruptly give out at the silver-streaked laughter in Kuchiki Byakuya's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Gift (guess the gift!)

Characters: Byakuya and Renji

Word count: ~ 1100

Rating: PG-13, complete crack

Summary: B-day fic. And I submit that perv!Byakuya isn't OOC.

Disclaimer: Don't own Bleach, not even bleach

AN: Part of the Fanfiction Universe series. Piece of crack (hopefully, it's crack, not crap). Not 100% satisfied, but I give up...

lj-cut text="In Jane Austen's immortal words..."

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a nobleman in possession of elevated rank and great fortune presents to the world a faultless elegance of demeanor and dress, the proper expressions of a man whose quality is most amenable to the cultivation of a refined mind and spirit.

No, scratch that.

It is a truth universally acknowledged in the Gotei 13, though not much bruited abroad for fear of Senbonzakura, that Kuchiki Byakuya was fortunate in his enjoyment of ancient and venerable traditions to guide his sartorial choices, and the fabled Kuchiki coffers to support them. He further rejoiced in the allegiance of his major domo, Kuchiki Senzo, who chose, commissioned and arranged his outfits to the last detail with a finesse that made Lord Kuchiki the envy of the collective nobility and other like-minded individuals. When he allowed his own taste to rule, however, the results were best described, in polite society, as mixed.

Between the two Kuchiki siblings, the term "fashion victim" had acquired a new meaning. And almost invariably, it was an appellation bestowed on Abarai Renji, who was both too smitten to refuse his partner's gifts and too cowed to reject his sister's selections. This was universally acknowledged to be unfortunate, since he was accounted to have a flamboyantly eclectic style that, in another life, would have won him fame and fortune. Indeed, Kuchiki Byakuya's least disastrous experiments in casual fashion were directed by Abarai Renji, to the ocular benefit of all. But that is a story for another time.

With the approach of summer's end, Kuchiki Byakuya directed his attention towards Abarai Renji's birthday gift. It was no easy matter for a man who could afford everything to select a gift for a man who counted himself content with his present circumstances. A set of kimono and haori? That had been the choice of the year past, and while the memories were, in his estimation, magnificent, to repeat the same gift immediately suggested recourse to mere thoughtless convenience. A rare ingredient? The man was currently engaged in a not too subtle contest with his chef to create the most palatable dishes from the commonest materials. A trip away from their duties? That had been his own birthday celebration, and his partner had played the role of lover and very personal body servant to their mutual satisfaction. When applied to, the reply had been, "I can't think of anything I want, Byakuya. Whatever you please." Given such a mandate, he could but humbly assent and please himself.

A lull in summer paperwork facilitated his purpose. A certain item seen during a Living World mission had excited his curiosity and further investigation convinced him of its suitability. And while his commission would be tailored exactly to Abarai Renji, there was no need for any exertion beyond the sketching of the design, familiar as he was with the dimensions required. A quiet command, and preparations were put in hand. When the completed gift was respectfully presented for his inspection by the efficient and discreet Kuchiki Senzo, Kuchiki Byakuya was pleased to approve the fruits of his labour.

The morning of Abarai Renji's birthday dawned fair and clear. Ablutions complete, Kuchiki Byakuya made his birthday offering, admiring the red sheen of the simple, richly burnished wooden box against the white taichou's haori, repeated by the crimson of the Fifth Division Taichou's hair. His partner tested the box in his hands and glided his fingers experimentally over the smooth wood. He was a man whose brash and reckless abandon had been tempered by experience and the duties of position, but for now, a child-like excitement at the prospect of a treat coruscated in his eyes, and Kuchiki Byakuya was once again reminded of how little Abarai Renji had held during his childhood in the mean streets of Rukongai.

"Jewelery, Byakuya?" The grown Abarai Renji, however, could not be kept at bay, and reappeared in the curvature of the irrepressible smirk. Gently, the calloused fingers lifted the lid. Narrow eyes widened and the mobile jaw fell into an exaggeration of shock as the gift made the initial acquaintance of its recipient.

"Eh? What's this?" The stutter of disbelief that had marked his younger days forcefully asserted its return. Tattooed eyebrows rose precipitously into the exaggerated widow's peak as Abarai Renji's eyes remained fixed with unblinking concentration on his gift. A long and suspended silence fell on the room, broken only when a wry snort of amusement replaced blank astonishment. The box was placed carefully down on a side table, and the gift removed in a tangle of intertwined loops of black pearls and fiery rubies, its recipient's thumbs rubbing gently over the thin windflower silk and the delicate embroidery. Its giver watched with mesmerised attention as crimson eyes burgeoning with sparking warmth met his own.

"A 'five' rather than a 'six'?" Though the question was bantering in manner, Abarai Renji's voice was promissory of intimacies to follow.

"You are Taichou of the Fifth Division," replied Kuchiki Byakuya austerely. His finger ran over the contours of the embroidered character and Abarai Renji's breath faltered. His slow, provocative smirk, however, announced his speedy recovery.

"Thought my cock and ass belong to you. I'm surprised you didn't put the Kuchiki crest on this."

"That can be readily remedied." A noble finger circled the edge of the soft material. "The silk is detachable."

Incredulity and hilarity met in the loud, mirthful guffaws that resounded through the room. Through the alchemical process that was the warm sounds of Abarai Renji's amusement, Kuchiki Byakuya's lips consented to a small, indulgent smile. When chuckles had succeeded laughter, those lips were rewarded with a gossamer kiss.

"Only you, Byakuya, only you." After a second, more vigorous salute, Abarai Renji stood very straight, teeth gleaming. "So, want me to model it for you now?" His eyelid dipped briefly. "Got to show my appreciation and all that."

He received no explicit acknowledgment, but none was needed when Kuchiki Byakuya's hands made easy work of his waist ties, then turned with great solicitude to the release of haori and shikahausho.

As the jewelled loops slid up muscled thighs to sit around narrow hips, and the fine if calloused hands of a noble swordsman carefully slipped him intimately through a smaller, jeweled circle into the waiting embrace of embroidered windflower silk, Abarai Renji inquired with studied nonchalance, "So, Byakuya, how many mansions did it cost to bag up just my balls?"

"The price of a good man is far above rubies."

Omake 1 Duty

The duties of the steward of the Kuchiki Residence were many and varied, and there were times when Kuchiki Senzo was called to serve beyond the call of duty. As he translated his master's sketch into instructions that would commission various master craftsmen, Senzo reflected that, while the trust of the Kuchiki lord was gratifying, there were some pieces of information he would rather were kept from his knowledge, the more private of Abarai Taichou's measurements among them.

Duty completed, he locked all the materials away under his private seal. It would not do for them to fall into the hands of the young lady and her SWA associates.

Omake 2 Possession

"The Kuchiki crest?" said Senzo. "Very well, my lord." Without batting an eyelid, he took the small fold of silk and bowed his leave to his master and Abarai Taichou, ignoring the latter's red face and incoherent splutters. After all, the Kuchiki had been marking their own for twenty-eight generations.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: In his tentacular embrace

Connected ficlets from 5 prompts for H/C Bingo at LJ: Build-up of work related trauma, Tentacles, Motion Sickness, Lacerations/Knife Wounds, Post-apocalypse (crossover with Highschool of the Dead)

Pairings/Characters: ByaRen (various stages), Ichigo and a bunch of other shinigami

Rating/Warnings: T-M, with a bunch of crack, adult situations, gore, fluff, did I say crack?

Disclaimer: I own neither Bleach nor Highschool of the Dead, I merely borrow their characters for my non-profit pleasure

* * *

**1. Laying it on the line**

Hell Butterflies getting the better of Rikichi.

One stroke.

Completion of routine patrol. All members intact.

One stroke.

Kuchiki Taichou's indifference to a joke meant to lighten the work day.

One stroke.

Renji shrugged and added another just for the hell of it. He was a great believer in congenial work environments and Kuchiki Byakuya didn't make it easy.

Now for a little more action. The monthly stores check. The assigned shinigami maintained the inventories, tallied the numbers and handed their accounts over to him, but it didn't mean he could avoid a trip to the storerooms for spot checks and general eyeballing, and the occasional crawl into tight and dark corners, thankfully kept painfully clean if his men knew what was good for them. All that bull about delegating more and more as one rose through the ranks? And here he was, still doing grunt work. He even made his taichou's tea. Though given its cost, perhaps Taichou thought only a fukutaichou was worthy of touching it.

A nice leisurely stroke followed by several rapid ones. Renji sighed. He was slowly getting there. His thumb pressed down firmly. That one was for the tea.

Running two patrols end on end, following by a vigorous training session.

One stroke for each, with a bonus squeeze at the end and a deft and repeated moulding at the tip. Renji considered himself the physical type, and he was never happier when out of the office and engaging in some kind of physical activity, but to mess up the schedule because he had been recovering from one of Matsumoto's infamous drinking parties? He had taken responsibility for it, but it hadn't made him any happier. It had been the week from hell, and it had been his own doing.

Then he had gotten injured, right at the end of a training session. Unohana Taichou had mandated two days of recovery, and since no one disobeyed Unohana, it had meant two days in the office attacking paperwork. Renji didn't dislike paperwork- an organization ran on paper, that much he had learnt working under Yumichika's firm thumb, but two straight days of unrelieved paper-pushing had him literally howling at the moon. He shuddered as he recalled the deadened feeling of sitting in a chair for hours on end.

His hand pumped and pulled. This one was a tough one to get over. Unohana's eerily serene smile, the tightly-wrapped bandages that held him as stiffly as a board, the piles of white with their black slashes of ink, the enforced inaction, the numbing of his leg and butt muscles and the cramp in his fingers- each had to be exorcised with redoubled effort. A change of pace was called for. And it was time to stop counting strokes. Some things you just couldn't put a figure on.

Kenpachi goading Kornamura into a fight near the Sixth Division and the resultant damage. It had been his responsibility to access the damage, arrange for repairs, determine the monetary penalties for each division based on eyewitness reports and analysis of the reiatsu traces and damage wrought, negotiate with said divisions for the actual payment, and submit all the relevant reports. His taichou had crowned his efforts with a, "It is satisfactorily settled," but the administrative nightmare far outweighed any gesture of approval.

One hand moving in ever-quickening and more powerful strokes, the other crept down further between his legs. The "black-out" special was called for, this time. Renji felt the rush of water and tried to relax into his fingers, no easy task given that his thigh muscles were bunched together and his abdomen was wound tighter than a spring. He bit more strongly on the cloth between his teeth to ease the tension and moved sharply. Slivers of lightning raced through him.

Arguing with his taichou for what he considered a perfectly legitimate reason and facing his bankai. To add insult to injury, it was Renji who had to write the damage report for the destroyed training field, even though Taichou had actually changed his mind and taken his suggestion.

Chasing down members of the Sixth who had gotten into a brawl with some drunken Eleverners, and standing over their shoulders while they wrote up their reports.

Leading an advance party into Hueco Mundo, to survey hollow activity after the fall of Aizen. The eternal night of the place, the desert of sand, the ruined aspect of Las Noches had pressed down on him in all their melancholic wreckage.

Renji's hands slowed and he shook his head, spraying droplets of water all over the bathroom floor. No, such thoughts wouldn't do. He was so close. He added a riff of rapid pinches to quicken matters. Ah, back on track.

The fortnightly fukutaichou meetings, which seemed to consist of silly resolutions that got them into sillier situations. Like the beach party graced by the presence of hollow watermelons with tentacles. All the real business tended to be conducted over lunch, dinner, or drinks. But since the meetings were a tradition from time immemorial, Renji spent most of them torn between bedulled boredom and incipient terror.

Persuading the mess cooks that a regular change of menu was required and convincing Taichou that the increase in expense was justified. It was minimal, the men were happier and had more energy for their work, and there was less after hours drinking to substitute for unsatisfying grub. Then his friends from other divisions had sent him round to make the case to their own taichous, and by the time he had done a circuit of most of the divisions (the Twelvth was one place he had avoided), Renji had talked himself hoarse and was regretting his big mouth. He should never have told Shuuhei about it. Senpai was the Gotei's news editor. Renji had always thought town-crier a better description.

Renji's fingers dug in with dogged resolution. For facing the various taichous, he deserved all the restitution he could get. He pressed down firmly on his soles and swung his body into frantic action. Suddenly, the balance tipped. His vision swam as his world went up in glorious and earth-shaking conflagration before darkness deeper than peace and more soothing than the womb descended, and every last knot worked itself out of his muscles.

He only came to when a sibilant hiss sounded from the depths of his soul. "Never thought _you_, of all people, would get it up for work, Renji."

"Shut up, dirt-eater."

* * *

**2. Title: After the beach**

Kotetsu Isane hesitated when she saw her Taichou seated on the veranda, looking as if the moon had engaged her in some silent communion, but the older woman had already turned and smiled beckoningly before she made up her mind to retreat.

"Another nightmare, Isane?" The light, fluting voice held only gentle enquiry.

Once again, Isane hesitated. "I'm not sure," she said finally. "It's not about fishcakes, so perhaps it wasn't a nightmare, yet..." Her voice trailed off.

Retsu waited patiently. As much as the subjects of her fukutaichou's nightmares might appear laughable to other people, Isane took them very seriously, and her confessions to her taichou were very much her sole solace.

"Kuchiki Taichou always wears his kenseikan, doesn't he?" began Isane tentatively.

Unohana's eyes lids lowered, hiding the sudden glint. "Yes. It is a sign of his nobility, and also arranges his hair most tidily."

"Tidily," echoed Isane. "I dreamt that all that hair of his became unruly and attacked Abarai-san. Like tentacles." She shuddered.

With the discipline instilled by two millennia of bedside tact, Retsu gamely suppressed the bubble of delight that rose in her chest.

"An remmant echo of the episode this afternoon at the beach," she said gravely. Her fukutaichou blushed at the memory of the giant tentacular monster and her hands clasped together in front of her. "Furthermore, Abarai-kun did get into a little scuffle with that creature, so it is unsurprising that the incident would weigh on your mind and enter your dreams." Retsu patted the wood next to her. "Sit here with me, Isane, and share the night."

With a quiet sound of assent, Isane padded over and took her seat. But one last question crossed her lips before both women fell into silence. "But why Kuchiki Taichou's hair?"

At the next SWA meeting several weeks later, Isane recounted her dream to the usual crowd of co-conspirators. There was a brief, awed hush as she finished, then Matsumoto Rangiku leapt to her feet, bosom jiggling in her haste, and fell on Isane, sweeping her into a fervent embrace. "Congratulations, my dear, welcome to the ranks of serious yaoi..."

Her exuberance was rudely interrupted by loud snorts and guffaws from Rukia, half falling off her chair and hugging her sides in agony. Since the two men in question, the subjects of Isane's dream, counted Rukia the most important female in their lives, everyone awaited her recovery with polite and deliberate patience.

Finally, when Rukia had ceased choking and a glass of tea was offered to ease her aching throat, she graciously proceeded to satisfy their curiosity. "Nii-sama has been serving octopus every time Renji comes to dinner in the past fortnight." After Renji's rapprochement with Rukia, he had fallen into the habit of dining with the Kuchikis at Rukia's invitation, with the tacit consent of her elder brother. "I think he likes the way Renji blushes."

"Was Abarai-kun blushing or was he red because he was embarrassed?" piped up Hinamori Momo inquiringly. "He was furious that he lost to that monster at the beach and embarrassed once he woke up!" She giggled a little, to the accompaniment of grins from the other members of the SWA. All recalled how Renji had been scarlet from forehead to knees at his ignominious defeat.

"Definitely blushing," replied Rukia decisively. "The pink's more," she waved a hand about, "delicate. And he can't look Nii-sama in the eye. Nii-sama always offers him a piece from his own plate, and it makes Renji incoherent." She cocked her head consideringly. "I think that the tentacle monster did something to Renji as well, though we didn't really see it." Ise Nanao and Isane choked over their tea and blushed deeply. Kurotsuchi Nemu remained stoically expressionless.

Rangiku tapped her lips thoughtfully. "Sounds promising," she said with conspiratorial emphasis. "Good work, and keep us posted, Rukia. Especially when Renji finally surrenders."

Rukia smiled dazzlingly as pink flowers danced around her head. "Of course, Rangiku-san. As long as the byline for the exposé's mine." She held up the paper she had been scribbling on, where a kenseikan-wearing rabbit outlined in black had its ridiculously long ears wrapped around a panicked red-furred dog.

* * *

**3. The spider who miscalculated**

"Come into my parlor," said the spider to the fly.

Renji would have snorted if he hadn't been so damned nauseous. He'd once mocked the idiot fly who'd listened to the blandishments of the spider, despite how pretty the spider was, with its black and white markings, but now he knew stupidity had nothing to do with it. It was all good marketing and the lure of the unexplored. Damn Living World TV, damn _Sex and the City_, damn Rukia for leaving those DVDs lying around for the unwary and the overimaginative and damn noble-friendly mail catalogs. Or the internet. Or whatever it was that got the spider its web. He could have damned the spider too, but his grievance with it went far beyond that. He dug his face deeper into the spider's neck. Damn the trembling, it wasn't manly, and it set the web shaking.

His stomach heaved wildly again, and he sunk his teeth into firm and naked skin. This way, there would be at least _one_ still point of reference in his crazily tilting and revolving world. And, he thought vengefullly, hearing the light "oomph" of pain, it was the least the spider could do, after having conned Renji into its web. Its crazily revolving, tilting web.

When his stomach stopped roiling, he was going to bankai the idiot who invented a swing suspended from only one point in the ceiling, high enough that its users' feet were half a body length off the ground. And no, shunpo was not the answer, whatever the spider said. It got you into the web and _stuck_. Which had probably been the spider's intention all along. His lips and teeth found another anchor and worked valiantly on it. The spider gasped again.

Sadly, the spider remained unchastened. Renji stiffened when he felt feelers creep towards the dip between his butt cheeks. The web swayed with his movement and his stomach turned over. His limbs tightened involuntarily and the spider moaned. Renji would have cursed out loud if all his attention hadn't been on keeping the contents of his stomach in. He managed a deep growl, which was, not unexpectedly, ignored. Who said a spider only had six legs anyway? There were twice that- ten fingers, tongue and cock. He could feel all of them, caressing, smoothing, prodding. Prodding? He jerked.

Once again, the world spiraled around Renji, and his head followed it. The throb in his temples deepened to hammer-on-anvil-like proportions. Renji moaned in protest. If he was going to get it up the ass, then he at least wanted to be healthy enough to enjoy _all_ of it.

When the spider's hips moved and the web with it, Renji's much beleaguered stomach finally gave up. He retained enough presence of mind to turn his head away- he did want to get naked again with the damned fastidious spider, just not in a sex swing- and this time, relief at the release was so great it did not matter that the web dipped and bounced dangerously as he spewed the day's meals on the floor of the Sixth Division dungeon.

* * *

**5. A lesson in the flesh**

Clothing discarded, Renji took a running leap into the hot springs and whooped as water curled into the air and sprayed over his companion, to the accompaniment of maledictions that called his hair, his tattoos and his parentage into question.

"Just making sure your wounds get cleaned, Berry-head!" came the pious response. "Won't want to leave any scars, heh?"

Ichigo's angry curses subsided into a sullen glare. "What's so bad about a few scars?" he demanded, his tone rising only to weak defiance. Both men knew that blatant scarring would only trouble Ichigo's gentle sister Yuzu.

Renji's grin was very sharp indeed. "If you want to look like Zaraki Kenpachi, no one's stopping you."

Ichigo promptly shut his mouth and resumed glaring with remarkable ineffectualness. Barring Ikkaku, few men wanted to emulate Kenpachi and Ichigo most emphatically did not want to resemble the battle-crazed taichou. Searching for more robust ammunition, his eyes trailed over Renji's torso, trawling for Renji's own scars, and lighted on a cluster above his heart. "Thought you didn't like scars," he remarked snidely, prodding the puckered skin.

Renji's grin sharpened. "Use your eyes, idiot. These are badges, lessons." His index finger prodded Ichigo's chest in return.

Ichigo snorted and slapped at Renji's hand. "Like you can get anything into your thick head. Looks like a scar, feels like a scar, it is a scar. Idiot."

Renji leaned pugnaciously into Ichigo's face. "What do you know? This is the scar left from my first fight with Taichou. Idiot."

"Yeah, you got totally beat up on that one." Ichigo quickened as easily to sympathy as he did to anger. Besides, no one in their right minds happily faced a sword which turned into thousands of petals. Then again, "So, what was that lesson? That you could fight Byakuya and still be his fukutaichou, _and_ get him to train you regularly?"

Renji snorted derisively. "Only you would think that, idiot." Then his expression turned somber and he held up a solemn finger. "Listen up, Berry, and remember this. Sometimes, one fights for one's soul, and for this, it's worth risking everything, even one's soul."

Ichigo frowned in puzzlement, then his brow cleared and he shook wet hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. Doesn't make much sense, but yeah."

Renji smirked. "Of course I make perfect sense, you just won't admit to it."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So, what's that one for?" He pointed to a thin line running down Renji's left arm towards his elbow.

Bitterness and anger filled Renji's face. Ichigo drew back in surprise, and Renji's expression went blank as he noticed the other's reaction. "That was from a first year training exercise we had that turned into a real hollow attack. Thought for fifty years that the lesson was to be prepared for anything. Hisagi-senpai said it was a demonstration of Murphy's Law." His face darkened again. "Then we learned recently that Aizen and Ichimaru were experimenting with hollows. They were the taichous who turned up to rescue us, by the way. In order to remove all signs that they had messed with the hollows. And I realized that the real lesson is that things are not always how they seem."

Ichigo punched Renji's shoulder, then matched Renji frown for frown. "What?" demanded the latter.

"So what?" was the immediate response. "You fought, didn't you? Once you knew the truth, you stood up and fought. And you never backed down."

Renji stared at Ichigo for a moment, then grinned roguishly.

"Ha."

For a moment, both men exchanged smirks. Then Ichigo pressed on. "What's the next one?

Renji pointed to a scar on his abdomen. "This was from Hueco Mundo, against that freaking espada Szayel.

"Ouch." Ichigo had heard about the innards-replicating incident.

"Yeah." Renji grinned ruefully. "And there were quite a number of lessons." He counted his fingers. "One, improve shunpo. Getting up close and personal with your enemy might not be the best thing. One and a half, improve kido. Same thing. Two, brute force isn't always enough, nor sheer reiatsu. Unless you're Kenpachi." He eyed his companion. "Or Kurosaki Ichigo." Ichigo snickered and Renji responded by splashing him. "Lesson three. Sometimes, even conventional strategies and tactics don't work. And it's my luck if some skill I have does." Reflexively, he rubbed his abdomen. "That was a battle of scientist against scientist. So, lesson four. Keep learning. Something might come in useful. That one, Kurotsuchi Taichou out-thought Szayel. Lesson five, respect your opponents." He bared his teeth. "Even if you don't let them know it."

"So you respect me, huh?" Ichigo smirked, back-pedaling to avoid Renji's mock punch. His palm struck water and sent it towards Renji. The rest of the conversation descended into a water fight for which Renji was profoundly relieved. He had forgotten about the healed bite marks rimming his fundoshi when he had jumped into the pool after Ichigo.

The lesson for that one? Within noble icebergs lay active volcanoes.

* * *

**5. Collateral Damage**

There was a stunned silence after Urahara finished his report.

"Zombies?" said Hitsugaya incredulously. "Most of the world's population has turned into zombies in itwo/i days?

"Pardon me," interjected Ukitake, "but the number of souls requiring konso has not increased dramatically, nor that of those arriving in Soul Society."

Urahara tapped his closed fan against his palm. "Yes, it is both worrisome and fortunate. Based on our experiments, transformation into the zombie state puts the body into a stasis that is balanced between life and death, and not until the head is smashed in and the brain destroyed is the body dead and the soul released. Given the sheer numbers, if the zombies had experienced true death, Soul Society would have been flooded, not to mention Hueco Mundo, considering the manner in which these people died, and the total sum of hollows would be beyond our capability to contain. At this time, the few humans remaining are presumably fighting back, so we are seeing a trickle of souls. However," his eyes, for once unshaded by the brim of his hat, looked around the room and met every single pair, "I predict that the still human leaders of many countries will unleash their nuclear arsenals, and once one country has done so, the others will certainly follow, so we must be prepared for a disastrous influx of souls, as well as an exponential rise in hollow activity." He paused. "Unless we find a way to stop them."

Several voices spoke at once, offering suggestions, demanding more information, until the Soutaichou banged his staff on the floor. "We will proceed in an orderly fashion." The hall subsided into silence.

"We are facing an unprecedented crisis."

"Yeah," snorted Kenpachi. "We know _that_, old man. So, who are we going to fight this time?" He folded his arms.

"Brute," cackled Kurotsuchi. "Those zombies will be fascinating to study. I can hardly wait to set up the protocols."

Yamamoto held up his hand before other taichous could chime in yet again with their opinions.

"Soutaichou, if I might ask Urahara-san a question?" Unohana's light, melodious voice wafted gently over the tense silence. At Yamamoto's grunt, she turned to Urahara. "Urahara-san, you mentioned that the zombie state is one lying between life and death. Would it be possible to

move it in the other direction and bring the victims back to life?"

Urahara nodded. "Theoretically, yes. I have begun investigations along those lines myself, based on the assumption that the pandemic might be microbial in nature. But the cure will have to be delivered universally and simultaneously, otherwise the recovered humans will be at the mercy of the remaining zombies. However, a cure will take time, and I have some thoughts on other avenues of investigation that might restore the balance." He frowned, an unusual expression for his usually frivolous demeanor, and his listeners felt a chill run down their spines. "However, we don't have much time, and I fear that the human leaders may pre-empt all our efforts with their nuclear weapons. You will recall the last great conflict sixty years ago where but two of these were used. Now, their destructive capabilities are much greater and their use will spell the destruction of the human world." He looked at Yamamoto. "Soutaichou, this is an unprecedented catastrophe in the making."

Yamamoto's eyelids flickered in acknowledgment. He thumped his staff again. "Taichous and officers of the Gotei 13 squads, hear my orders." He looked at Urahara, then at Unohana, then Kurotsuchi. "We do not intervene in the human world beyond the demands of our duties, and never have we intervened in their wars." He glared, and the incipient outcry died down as the temperature in the hall rose. "However, the balance of three worlds has been disrupted beyond what is permissible, and we must act. Our best hope lies in reversing this zombie state. Urahara," Urahara bowed, "I am returning the twelfth division and the research institute to your command, and Kurotsuchi will serve as your second." He ignored Kurotsuchi's spluttered protests. "You will work together with Unohana Taichou to explore all possible means of reversal, whether medical or otherwise. Unohana Taichou will also prepare the Fourth Division to treat shinigami and others under possible war conditions."

"Soi Fon Taichou." He turned to the Second Division leader and she responded with a sharp "Hai." "You will keep under observation all human leaders who have access to nuclear arsenals and take measures to prevent the release of their weapons."

"Ukitake, Kyouraku and Komamura Taichous. You will coordinate procedures and prepare stations to process an exponential increase of souls into Soul Society. As Rukongai will be unable to accommodate the increased population, it is likely that we will have to ensure that the wildlands beyond the 80th districts are safe for habitation. You will be assisted by the Ninth Division. Hisagi Fukutaichou, you will be Acting Taichou. Furthermore, the Kido Corps will work with you in defensive and other matters." While the four shinigami bowed, Yamamoto turned to Tessai, who had accompanied Urahara. "Tsukabishi-san, I request that you resume leadership of the Kido Corps. Your knowledge and experience will be called upon for the tasks facing us."

Tessai bowed deeply. "Yamamoto-dono, I am honoured to serve."

Yamamoto turned to Hitsugaya. "Hitsugaya Taichou, you will liaise with Urahara Taichou concerning two matters. First, you will investigate if the zombie pandemic is an intentional event and take appropriate measures. Second, you will keep Hueco Mundo under observation." His eyes gathered in the remaining taichous. "The First Division will take command of patrols and offensive measures in the human world, aided by the Third, Fifth, Sixth and Eleventh Divisions. Kira Fukutaichou, you will be Acting Taichou of the Third Division. For the Fifth Division, Abarai Fukutaichou will take over as Acting Taichou. Kuchiki Taichou, this leaves you without a fukutaichou, but I expect no less from your division. Zaraki Taichou, all promotion duels in your division are suspended. We need every able-bodied shinigami we can get." Kenpachi "tched" at this, but held his tongue.

"All officers dismissed. Go about your preparations."

Later that evening, Renji sat across from his taichou, and poured tea for both of them with a steady hand. Then he sat back, nursing the warm cup between his palms, and silence fell, filled with the fatigue of the day.

"I am concerned."

Renji looked up from his contemplation of his tea. "Eh?"

"We do not yet have reports of the hollows' response, and it is unclear if the zombie state is permanent or if the victim dies at some point."

Renji's eyes widened and his pupils shrank to pin-points. "But that would be..." His voice trailed off and he grimaced.

"Yes."

Renji's hands tightened in frustration. "One crisis after another, and we thought the biggest one was over after Ichigo and Urahara-san got Aizen and we could settle down to rebuilding, and now this!"

"We are shinigami."

Renji bit back a growl. Disagreement was futile, when he too believed in the functions of the shinigami, but the situation made him twitch with all its macabre ridiculousness. The room once again descended into uneasy silence as each man considered the day's events.

Finally, Byakuya sighed almost inaudibly and laid down his cup.

"Bide with me tonight."

Renji's heart skipped a beat, and his clenched fists slowly relaxed. Watching the man across from him, he replaced his cup and pushed the low table aside along with his grim thoughts. He nudged forward lightly on his knees. Gently, he lited a hand to a pale cheek and ran his fingers along the lips that had parted slightly at his touch. Elegant hands gripped his shoulders, drawing him in, and Renji fell into the comfort of warm skin, silky hair and an unstinting generosity.


End file.
